Chapter 252

Chapter 252
Aiden

I was still marveling at the gorgeous man in front of me, quietly waiting for my command, when the stage assistant returned with a small chest containing my props. Those I had only used on my baby boy.

“Undress,” I murmured, my voice quiet but unquestionable.

Noah’s throat worked as he swallowed, then he nodded and slipped free of the only scrap of fabric shielding him from the room. He folded it neatly and placed it in my hand like an offering. The warm air touched his bare skin, and for a moment, all I could do was take him in—the strength, the beauty, the trust.

Then came the quiet.

The kind that hums inside your bones.

“Kneel.”

He lowered himself without hesitation. Knees to the stage. Head bowed. His breathing steadying only because I was near.

I stepped behind him—slow, deliberate—and lifted the length of silk to his face. When the blindfold slid into place, the world narrowed for him to sound, breath, and presence alone. He trembled. He never said no to me, but I saw the edge of fear, the ache of surrender.

My thumb brushed along his jaw for a single heartbeat—grounding, promising.

Then I lifted the collar. Soft white leather, smooth beneath my fingers, threaded with festive accents that caught the light like fire. I circled it around his throat and fastened the clasp with care. His breath caught.

“This was a gift for you, baby boy,” I whispered in his ear. “A white collar with beautiful red rubies…”

A promise. A vow.

I took his hands and guided him to his feet. Step by step across the stage, letting the hush of the audience fade until there was nothing left but us. His wrists lifted easily into my hold, and I secured the cuffs to the rings descending from above. His arms spread.

Then his ankles.

Anchored. Balanced. Exposed to the room—but protected because it was me.

My boy. Blind. Bound. Breathing. Completely still.

All he had left now was trust…and his Master.

The lights dimmed further, and the world fell silent.

I stepped closer to him, letting the silence stretch…letting the room breathe with us.

“Do you trust me?” I asked softly, my lips close to his ear.

“Yes, Sir.”

The words landed in my chest like a benediction.

I brushed my fingers along his ribs, slow and steady, feeling the quiet tremor in his breathing. Then I turned to the stage chest beside us and lifted the lid. A faint metallic sound carried through the hush as I selected a small pair of weighted clips, letting him hear the promise of them before he ever felt my touch.

He swallowed.

Good. He was present. Grounded. With me.

I set them aside for a moment and reached for the soft leather implement resting inside—a gentle whip meant not for pain but sensation. I dragged the falls lightly across his back. Just a whisper. Just enough for him to feel the contrast between air and leather. He shivered beneath it, muscles tightening, breath catching.

Slowly, I traced the path of his spine, then circled around him until the leather teased across his chest. His breath stuttered again, his lips parting, blind and open to me and nothing else.

I leaned in and let my mouth replace the leather for a moment, brushing my lips softly over his skin, reaching one of his nipples, then the other. Lingering in lazy, reverent circles around the delicate silver rings. His whole body reacted—subtle, involuntary—like a chord pulled gently into tune.

Then I lifted the first weight.

“Breathe for me.”

He did.

Carefully, I fastened it to the small jewel—his nipple slowly stretching. His body flinched—small, beautiful—and then he steadied. I waited. Let him find his center again.

The second followed, just as gentle, just as inevitable.

His breath trembled out of him, a quiet sound caught somewhere between surrender and trust. His glorious, vulnerable body, offered to me completely…and safe in my hands.

I rested my palm over his heart for a moment.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured.

I turned and walked to the polished wooden chest once more, the soft thud of my boots the only sound besides Noah's ragged breathing. 

The audience was a living, breathing entity, their anticipation a palpable heat on my skin. I opened the chest, and inside, nestled on velvet, was a small, black box. I lifted it out, along with a bottle of silky lube. Setting them on a small table, I opened the box. Inside was a large, soft silicone plug, its base a flared, secure anchor from which a full, fluffy white tail cascaded. It was perfect.

I coated my fingers and the plug generously with the cool, slick lube, the sound of it wet and obscene in the quiet room. I approached Noah again, his body a perfect, taut canvas of need. He flinched as the first drop of cold lube hit his ass, the muscles clenching in surprise. Blindfolded and trusting, he had no idea what was coming, only that it was from me.

I set the bottle down and used my fingers to spread the slick fluid over his tight ring of muscle, teasing him, circling him until he was pushing back against my hand, a silent plea for more.

I pressed one finger inside him, slow and steady, and he let out a shuddering moan. His body welcomed the intrusion, and I added a second, scissoring them gently, stretching him, preparing him. He writhed in his restraints, a beautiful, desperate thing—his cock hard and leaking against his stomach.

When he was ready, I positioned the slick, rounded head of the plug against his entrance. I pushed it in slowly, letting him feel every inch as it stretched him wide, and then, with one final, firm push, I seated it deep inside him, the soft tail brushing against his thighs.

A low murmur went through the crowd. I let Noah adjust, my hand resting possessively on the small of his back. I reached down and gripped the base of the plug, twisting it slightly, moving it just enough to make him gasp and arch his back. 

"Are you okay, baby boy?" I asked, my voice low. "Yes, Sir," he breathed, his voice hoarse with pleasure.

I picked up the soft flogger again, the falls a whisper of suede against my palm. I ran it lightly over his chest, down his stomach, watching him tremble at the teasing touch. Then, I flicked my wrist, tapping the soft falls directly against the sensitive head of his cock.

He cried out, his whole body jumping at the unexpected sensation.

I alternated then between the soft taps against his hard length and leaning down to lick his weighted nipples, pulling the small rings into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them. He was a mess of whimpers and shudders, completely lost in sensation.

"You still have a pending punishment, don't you?" I murmured against his ear. "How many points did you earn today?" 

He had to focus to form the words. "Seven... Sir." 

"Exactly," I confirmed, a dark pride swelling in my chest. "Which is 35 blows. I would like to administer them here, in front of everyone. Can you remember your safeword?" 

A hush fell over the room. "Red, Sir," he said, his voice clear and strong, full of trust. 

And with that, the punishment began.